


the flower among them all

by evewithanapple



Category: Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: "Hold me fast and fear me not." What has Janet to fear?





	the flower among them all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zynnser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zynnser/gifts).



“Aye, but it’s a cursed place and no denying it,” Janet’s nurse tells her. She says it so often, Janet could recite the entire speech, word for word. She doesn’t, though, because she likes to listen. “There’s many who’ve gone there seeking for gold or God, or just the rights to claim they’d visited and come back alive – but not many do, you know. They disappear through the gates of Carterhaugh and never are seen again. And those that _do_ return . . .” She shakes her head.

“What happens to them?” Janet asks eagerly. She asks the same questions each time Nurse tells the story, to the point that they’re almost part of the rhythm of the tale: _and then what? and then what? and then what?_

“There was a lass,” Nurse says. Janet leans in closer. “Went forth to Carterhaugh to pluck the roses. And they’re beautiful roses, there’s no denying – so deep a crimson, you might mistake them for blood – but there’re not for human hands to pluck, not if you know what’s good for you.”

“But how can you know their colour,” Janet interrupts, “if none who go to Carterhaugh return alive and well?”

Nurse raps her on the top of the head, not hard enough to hurt. “I’ve heard tell, child. None of your cheek. This lass, she went to pluck the roses, but she came back empty-handed. She’d met a monster there, you see. Aye, a terrible beast, the like of which you’d never wish to see. She was lucky, if you’d ever think to call her such a thing. The beast let her live. But it left such a mark on her that none of her kith and kin would have her after that; she was cast out to wander the heath, and there’s many say she died there. Died of grief and loneliness and the cold. And there’s nights you can still hear her cry, if you walk the lowlands as the storms come. She cries for her mother to let her come home – but of course, she never will. Her mother’s dead now. Died of grief, just like her girl.” She raps the top of Janet’s head once more for good measure. “And that’s what fate awaits you, if you go straying off to parts you aren’t welcome. We’re not meant to roam all the world; there’s creatures older and darker than us, and they’re jealous of their property.”

Janet hugs her knees to her chest. “I’d like to see such roses, though,” she says wistfully. “They must be beautiful, for men and women to risk all for.”

“Off with you!” Nurse shakes her head. “You’ll be the death of me and your father both. Keep to your gardens here, and don’t go wandering where you’re not wanted.”

Nurse considers the story ended there, and moves on to another tale to chill Janet’s blood. But she thinks again on Carterhaugh that night, after she’s been tucked into bed and bid go to sleep. Her toes curl under the blankets as she thinks of the roses, so deep a crimson they might be mistaken for blood. She thinks also of the girl, so terribly marked – and what sort of mark would cause a mother to leave her daughter out to die on the heath? – and the monster hiding behind Carterhaugh’s walls, ready to maul and rip and scar any who trespass onto its land. She thinks she’s not sure which she wants to see more: the roses, or the monster that guards them.

* * *

She outgrows the need for a nurse eventually, of course, and by and by finds herself surrounded by other young ladies of similar breeding. Nurse herself is not sent away – Janet would never stand for it – and bides her days sitting by the kitchen fire, enjoying her leisure. Janet, meanwhile, befriends her new companions and teaches them to tell stories as good, or better, as the ones she cherished as a child.

Of course, there are other things that must be spoken of. Some of them bring more dread than ghostly tales.

“You’re to be wed soon,” Muirenn comments one day, as they sit at their embroidery. “Your lord father must wish it for you, now you’re nearly ten and seven. My mother was wed at ten and five, and your own mother likewise.”

Janet glances sidelong at her from underneath her eyelashes. Of all her ladies, Muirenn has been here the longest, and in all that time, she has been a true friend to Janet. But Muirenn also has an older brother, just recently come into his inheritance and doubtless eager to secure his position and lineage. Marriage to the daughter of a powerful laird would neatly accomplish both. And none of Janet’s ladies were placed in the household simply for friendship’s sake; all of them have families jostling for position, and all of them have cause to wheedle favours from Janet.

“If my lord father wills it,” she says eventually. Under the circumstances, it is the safest possible response.

Muirenn nods. “When he does, perhaps he shall hire workmen to repair Carterhaugh for you. It will be your dowry, after all.”

Janet sets her embroidery hoop down on her lap. Her heart is suddenly beating very fast. “Carterhaugh?”

“Of course.” Muirenn looks surprised. “It’s part of your estate, did you not know? Your mother brought it with her when she married your father, and it was your mother’s mother’s before that.”

Janet picks up the embroidery hoop and needle, pricking her finger in the process. Tiny droplets of blood well up, and as she sucks them from her fingertip, Nurse’s voice echoes in her head: _so deep a crimson, you might mistake them for blood_.

As soon as she can, she goes to find Nurse. It’s not difficult; she’s seated by the kitchen fire, as always. “Why,” Janet demands without any preamble, “did you not tell me that Carterhaugh was my birthright?”

Nurse looks at her, eyes twinkling in her wizened old face. Even now, when Janet is near grown, she always appears to be holding some wisdom over her head. “’Tis not your birthright, my child.”

“’Tis,” Janet says sharply. “It was my grandmother’s and then my mother’s, and now it is mine.”

“Aye, your grandmother . . .” Nurse – who is not Nurse any longer, not truly, but the name clings to her like a comforting scent – sits back in her chair, hands clasped over her stomach. “I saw her once, you know. She came riding through the village when I was but a child. A wild woman she was, and fierce. There were men grown, knights even, who would fear to cross her when she was in a rage. But beautiful, all the same.” She shakes her head. “But your grandmother is dead and gone, child, and her claim with her. There are older and darker things that live in the woods around Carterhaugh, and they will not welcome you there. Best you leave it be.”

“I will not,” Janet says. She clenches her fists at her side. Nothing and no one will rob her of her birthright; not Nurse and her superstitions, and not whatever creatures lurk in the woods. “It is mine by blood. Mine by right.” She does not remember her mother, who died when she was still a babe; nor her grandmother, who died before she was born. But their blood flows in her veins, beauty and fierceness and all. She does not intend to give up Carterhaugh, which was her mother’s, for the sake of shadows.

Nurse shakes her head sadly, and Janet sees resignation in her gaze. “You were ever willful,” is all she says.

Janet is saddled and riding out before the sun is high in the sky.

* * *

Carterhaugh is a ruin of a place, but Janet can see that it must once have been a fine hall. And the roses are more beautiful even than she imagined; they fairly drip from the tumbledown walls, clustered in bouquets of nature’s own making. Janet has worn a green kirtle today, but it pales in comparison to the riotous green of the vines. She slides down from her saddle and approaches, ignoring the burrs that cling to her skirt. She strips off her riding gloves and tosses them aside before she reaches for the roses. She may bleed, but she wants to touch the foliage bare-handed, to lay claim to it with no barrier between them.

“Don’t.”

Janet does not scream, nor does she jump. Instead she turns slowly. A figure stands in what was once the doorway to Carterhaugh’s great hall, pale and thin and scarecrow-like. He looks out of place among the vibrant greenery, him skin faintly yellow and his clothes nothing more than grey-brown rags. He looks at her the way a wild deer may look upon a hunting hound. “Do not pluck the roses.”

Janet meets his eyes, chin held high. This is her hall and these are her roses; who is he to tell her what she may or may not do with them? With one hand, she reaches out to grasp one of the roses, and pulls it from the wall with a single sharp tug. She feels the thorns cut into her palm, and is glad of it. Let her blood fall upon the ground here; it is where it belongs.

He winces. “ _Don’t_.”

“And why not?” She paces around him in a circle, the rose dangling from one hand. “This hall is mine, by my mother’s blood. These roses are mine, too.” She fixes him with a hard stare. “Who are you, to intrude on my property?”

He grows, if possible, even paler. “You know not what you say.”

“I know not what _you_ say,” she retorts, “nor why you say it. Why should you presume to tell me what roses I may pluck? What business do you have here?”

He leans against the doorframe, as though suddenly exhausted. His neck droops. “Whatever claim you have here is by man’s law,” he mutters. She must strain to hear him. “But there are others-“

“- older and darker,” she finishes for him. “I have heard these tales. They do not frighten me.” She narrows her eyes. “Do you claim to be such a creature, then?” He does not look old or dark to her. He looks like a boy of an age with her, though perhaps sickly or stunted. Or – perhaps not. She cannot name what afflicts him, but she knows he looks frail. There is a touch of the otherworld about him, for all he does not appear to be a creature of her nurse’s tales.

His mouth thins. “I could tell you worse tales,” he says, “worse than any you have heard of a night beside the hearth. What makes you think you might triumph over those that rule these woods? Why should you dare, and for no greater purpose than a brace of roses?”

“They are _my_ roses,” she replies, heart thudding. There is a truth to his words that she never heard in Nurse’s voice; it is the voice of experience. “It is _my_ hall and _my_ forest. I may have little enough in my domain, but I have this, and I will not be denied.”

He groans, burying his face in his hands. “This vanity will be the death of you, or worse.”

“Then it will be my death,” she says, “and of my choosing.” She looks at him more closely. “And what of you? Why do you linger here, if you have so much to fear?” Under her gaze, he seems to wilt further, like a plant denied sunlight and water for too long. His hair is dry as straw, his lips bloodless, his nails nearly white. She would suspect him a vagrant, but instinct tells her that the truth is far stranger.

“If I could leave,” he says, “I would, and not look back. I can see you are a brave lass, but bravery will not save you. You ought to run while you still may.”

She prowls closer. “That is not an answer.”

“It is all the answer I can give.” He looks truly wretched. For the first time, Janet feels a stab of pity for this strange creature, somehow rooted to a place he does not wish to be. “Believe me, lady, you do not wish to hear me speak further. You would do better to mount your horse and ride away.” He gestures. “And leave the roses behind.”

“I will not.” Janet drops the rose, but she shakes her head as she does it. “I will not leave. Not until you tell me why you remain.” She now stands close enough that she can hear the rasp of his breath and feel it on her face. In this, at least, he is wholly ordinary. “In the tales my nurse told me,” she says, “you were a fearsome monster. She said you left a dreadful mark on those who came to Carterhaugh, such that their families spurned them forever afterwards. But you do not appear a monster to me.”

“Do I not?” He laughs, a dry, raspy sound. “Well I am not; or at least, I am not the most fearsome creature you may encounter here. I once was one of the foolhardy mortals you speak of, who thought to trespass on land where I had no right.” He gestures at himself. “And now I am the creature you see before you.”

“Your family has spurned you?” she asks. “I cannot see why. You bear no mark. You look unwell,” she adds, “but that is no reason to cast a loved one aside.”

“Unwell!” He laughs again. “No, lady, I am not unwell. Nor have I been cast aside. If my family yet lives, they know not what has become of me, and they are the better for it. I have not seem them for near seven years, since I first stepped onto this ground, and I doubt I will see them again while I yet live.”

Janet looks around again, taking in the crumbling stone, the overgrown grass, the roses that sprout up through cracks in the walls. “You have been here for seven years?”

He shrugs. “Here, sometimes. Other times, I have been in other realms, where no mortals dwell.” He meets her eyes with a flay, grey gaze. “I am bound to one whose domain is greater than Carterhaugh, and she guards my time jealously. The time I tarry here is the only time I might call my own. And even then, she demands a price of those who trespass.” His face is anguished. “I would not take it from them, if they did not persist. I do not wish it. But she does, and her will is iron.”

“What price does she demand?” Janet asks. He does not kill those who trespass; if he did, there would be no tales of their return, such as she heard from her nurse. Does he maim, then? Remove limbs? She cannot think that a family would throw away their daughter for returning absent a hand or foot. But what else could he demand? What else would leave such an evil mark?

She feels pressure on her wrists and looks down. He has seized hold of both of them; despite his appearance, his grip is strong. Their faces are very close. “Please,” he says, breath warm on her cheek. “Please, flee while you may. My mistress will not be denied.”

Realization crashes over Janet like a wave. A tithe, not death, but one that would lead families to cast out their daughter; how could she not have realized? What other disgrace could run so deep, that shame would outweigh love? Her lip curls unbidden as she thinks of it; daughters unmarriageable, damaged goods, unworthy of love or shelter. What a cruel trick for his mistress to play; young women left for a fate worse than death, to the cruelty and hard-heartedness of their families who would bear death more gladly than shame. Who would reckon their daughters’ maidenheads higher than their lives – for if a daughter could not bring honour to a father and then a husband, what use had she?

 _You’re to be wed soon_. Muirenn’s voice echoes in her ears. _Your lord father must wish it._ She thinks of Muirenn’s brother, who she has never met and yet who hungers for her dowry. She thinks of the knights who crowd her father’s hall, jostling for the position her name and maidenhead would grant them. She thinks of her mother, wed at five and ten and dead scarcely a year later.

She meets his eyes. “What is your name?”

He stares at her for a long moment, confusion clouding his eyes. “Tam Lin,” he says. “I am called Tam Lin, once of Roxburgh. But please, you must go.”

“Tam Lin,” she repeats. In one neat flick, she reverses his hold on her wrists so that she grasps him, and uses the leverage to draw him closer. “My name is Janet. Janet of Selkirk, and of Carterhaugh. Tell me, Tam Lin, would you regret the reaping of your tithe so bitterly if it were given freely?”

It seems to take a moment for her meaning to dawn on him. When it does, colour floods his cheeks for the first time, making him appear almost hale for the first time since their encounter began. “You cannot mean this. When you ride away from here, the mark you bear – “

“It is my mark,” she says, “of my choosing, and I will bear it gladly.” She uses one hand to reach up and grasp the back of his head, pulling him down to capture his mouth in hers. After a moment of stillness, he returns the kiss, hands going to her waist and rubbing slow circles there. Janet closes her eyes. I may be wed, she thinks; and Carterhaugh and all my lands and titles may go to a husband of my father’s choosing. But I will still have this. I will _always_ have this.

When she rides away, she carries a rose tucked into her belt.

* * *

“Janet,” Lady Ailsa calls from across the hall, “are you well? You look fairly green.”

“I am well, thank you,” Janet replies through clenched teeth. She fears she may vomit if she opens her mouth any wider. Muirenn sits beside her and sews in silence.

Her silence persists over the next several months, a fact for which Janet is devoutly grateful. She is silent as she helps Janet let out the seams of her gowns, silent as she stabs new holes in Janet’s belt, silent as the rose Janet brought back from Carterhaugh remains in bloom where it sits at her bedside, untouched by the passage of nearly five months’ time. Muirenn’s little cat is not so tactful; it mewls in annoyance as it tries and fails to balance itself on Janet’s lap. Soon enough, she knows, she will have no lap at all.

“Your father will return soon,” Muirenn says softly to her one day as they sit over their needlework. She’s right; Janet’s father has been in England nearly half the year, currying favour and negotiating treaties over their rights to the border. But word arrived a fortnight earlier that he was on his way home; if the roads were good, he would be home by All Hallows Eve. “What will you tell him?”

Janet glances wryly down at herself. “I doubt I’ll need to _tell_ him anything.”

Her words mask a deeper fear. She had known, of course, what risks she took when she lay with Tam Lin; that she would mark herself unmarriageable and disgraced forever. But she had not planned for a child. When she’d taken her own fate into her hands, the thought of another – entirely dependent on her, doomed by her choices and facing an uncertain future. What would happen to the bastard of a fallen highborn lady? Would he be kept in her father’s household, suspended in limbo as an heir who could not inherit? Would he be sent away to be raised by another family, far from Janet’s arms? Or something worse?

Already, some have begun to look askance at her. The knights in her father’s hall – those too old or infirm to make the trip to England – look at her out of the corner of their eyes, when they think she won’t catch them, an unspoken question lingering there. And her old nurse watches her too, with an expression that’s mixed fear and resignation. Janet is quite sure that she knows, or has guessed, the whole story; she only holds her tongue to preserve the household’s fragile peace.

Muirenn speaks again. “He may have sought a match for you in the English court,” she says. “When he comes home and finds you thus . . .” She trails off.

Janet pricks her finger, and throws her needle down in frustration. This is the fifth time in the past half-hour she’s done herself an injury trying to finish this seam; the task cannot hold her attention. “When he comes home,” she says, “I will either have a husband, or be unburdened of my child. I will not wait for him to act.”

Muirenn looks at her with a solemn face. “What will you do?”

Janet pushes the dress she’s been working on off her lap. It slides to the floor, a waterfall of scarlet silk. “I found my own way once,” she says, “and I will again.”

* * *

The trees around Carterhaugh are losing their leaves, but the roses are as they ever were. Today, Janet’s dress is red to match them; it is the only gown she has that still fits around her middle. She swings herself from her horse’s back and strides through the gates, as proprietary as she was that first day. “Tam Lin!” she calls. “Tam Lin, are you here? I bid you answer my call.”

“I am here,” comes a quiet voice from behind her. She turns. Tam Lin stands leaning against a pillar, having materialized out of the morning mist. He’s frowning. “I had not thought to see you again.”

“You would not have,” Janet says curtly. “I would have asked nothing of you, but for the circumstances I have found myself in.” She gestures, encompassing her ample frame. He looks her up and down, his quizzical expression fading slowly to comprehension and fear. “I must ask more of you. I am in need of a father to claim my child, and that father is you. You must return to my father’s hall with me, before he returns on All Hallows Eve.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. “I cannot grant you this, Janet. You know I am in bondage.”

“I know that bonds can be broken,” she says sharply, “and so they must, if you be a man. Will you abandon my child and I to penury?” Her voice softens. “The choice to make this child was mine, I know; but the law does not permit me to own it. I must have a man to give the child his name, else I know not what may become of it. I will do what I must to ensure its future.”

“You may do nothing with me.” Tam Lin looks, if possible, paler than she has ever seen him. “You would do better to find another man willing to lay his claim to you. I am lost to you, and to our child. My mistress will permit nothing else.”

Janet bristles. The idea of being _permitted_ her own way has never sat well with her; and it sits even less so now, with so much at stake. “Your mistress cannot be all-powerful,” she says. “No creature is. Tell me what I may do to break her spell, and I will do it. If it is a battle of wills, have no doubt that I will win.”

What became of the other women who came to Carterhaugh, she wonders? Did they all leave with an unclaimed child growing within them, and no recourse to find a husband? Did they fear Tam Lin’s mistress so greatly that they would not return to claim him? Or did they not realize that they had a right to Tam Lin at all? Well, she is not afraid to stake her claim here. These are her woods, and Carterhaugh is her estate; and Tam Lin is and will be the father of her child.

“Janet, Janet . . .” Tam Lin draws close, putting his arms around her and breathing into her shoulder. “The task is a great one, and hazardous. I would believe you, above all others, to be capable.” He rubs his cheek against her hair. “On All Hallows Eve, my mistress and her court will ride to the crossroads, with myself in attendance. The border between our worlds will be at its thinnest then, and you will have the greatest chance to claim me. If you pull me from my horse that night, and hold me fast til morning – no matter what form I take in your arms - I will be yours by right.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “But are you certain you would undergo this hardship? There must be easier paths – “

“Easier, perhaps,” she says, “but this one is mine.” She draws back enough to meet his eyes. “I will be there on All Hallows Eve, Tam Lin, and I will claim you. No matter what form you may take, no matter how your mistress may torment me. When morning breaks, you will be free of her.”

His arms tighten around her. “Godspeed, then,” he says, “and my blessings go with you.”

* * *

Janet’s father sends word ahead that they will be delayed on the road, and not return home until it is nearly Christmas. She sends up a silent prayer of thanks for this good fortune, then gets to work.

Before she does anything else, she goes to see her nurse. “You must tell me what creatures inhabit the woods around Carterhaugh,” she says without preamble, “and how I may best contest their power. Whoever their queen is, she and I have a quarrel, and I will not yield.”

Nurse stares at her. “Mercy upon us child, what have you done? What do you intend to do?”

“I will do as I must,” Janet says. “Now tell me what you know.”

And so her nurse tells her of the Fair Folk, their queen in her rich apparel and fearsome temper. She tells of how they may be deterred by rings of salt or the touch of iron, and how the more minor among them may be appeased with offerings of milk. She tells of how they steal babes from the cradle, and sometimes even men and women grown who are lured into the confines of a fairy ring and trapped beneath the hill. Much of what she tells her, Janet has heard before, but she nods and thanks Nurse anyway. It cannot hurt to be reminded.

On All Hallows eve, she slips unnoticed from her bower. Muirenn helps; she tells the other ladies that Janet has retired with a headache and must not be disturbed, then distracts the guards at the gate so that Janet may ride forth. When the night has passed, Janet thinks, she will reward Muirenn so richly that she will not need to rely on her brother’s fortunes for her future. But first she must complete the task at hand.

She ties her horse in the trees near the crossroads, though it stamps and rolls its eyes at her in fear. Then she moves silently through the grass, until she is crouched just beside the road. Her knees and her back ache, and the damp grass soaks through her skirt and chills her. She pays it no mind. There are greater hardships to be faced this night.

The hardest part is the waiting. She stays where she is, blowing on her hands and watching the moon hanging in the sky overhead. It is nearly a full moon tonight, for which she is grateful; it will be easier to see. She has brought no lantern with her, for fear of alerting the Fairy Queen to her presence before she moves to act. This way, at least she can look around.

The fairies’ arrival is announced with the ringing of bells – dozens of them, all jingling on their horses’ bridles. The sound is accompanied by merry laughter and a hubbub of voices raised in cheer. In her hiding place, Janet tenses. It may be human revellers – the sound does nothing to distinguish them – but she feels deep in her bones that it is not. The time is very near, now. She must be ready.

She muffles a gasp in her hand when the Fairy Queen rides into sight. She is truly beautiful, with rich red hair and a golden gown that sweeps the ground around her. Tam Lin is seated on a pony that rides beside her, his wrists pressed together in front of him as though they are bound by rope. Perhaps they are; Janet is sure that the fairies may employ ropes that she cannot see. His skin glistens white in the moonlight, nearly as white as the dappled mare he rides on. For the first time, he looks like a creature of the otherworld.

 _Not for long_ Janet thinks, and dashes out into the road. The fairies’ procession has no time to react before she seizes Tam Lin by the wrists and pulls him from his horse with a single yank. He slides down bonelessly into her arms, a limp doll. She bears him to the ground and lets herself go limp on top of him, her full weight pressing him down into the earth. The fairy queen’s horse stamps its feet right next to Janet’s head, and she hears the sound of a sword being drawn, but she does not look up.

“Wait.” The fairy queen – for the voice can belong to no other – sounds amused.

Tam Lin’s skin begins to twist and bubble under Janet’s hands, coarse fur sprouting up between her fingers. She tightens her grip, burying her face in Tam Lin’s neck. Before she does, she catches a glimpse of what he has become: a great, snorting boar, sides heaving as his stubby legs drum against the ground. Two evil-looking tusks protrude from his mouth, and Janet has no doubt that he could run her through in an instant. _Be calm_ , she tells herself; Tam Lin had warned her of this, and she had promised to hold fast. And might he not recognize her, even in this state? Might that not soothe him until morning?

The fairies are laughing all around her. “How she fights!” calls one. “A fine prize for us she would make, would she not?” Janet grits her teeth. The fairies cannot take her; she has not set foot into a fairy ring, she is not in their territory. And besides, she has come prepared.

When one of the fairies reaches for her, she is ready. She reaches into her skirt pocket and brandishes what she finds within: an iron horseshoe she had made sure to tuck away before leaving her father’s hall. Tam Lin bleats frantically in her arms as the fairies fall back, cries of dismay echoing up against the trees. “Cheat! Cheat!”

“Saucy thing,” the fairy queen says. She had been entertained by Janet before; no longer. Underneath Janet, Tam Lin shifts and rolls against the dirt. The hair she had twined her fingers in shrinks, then vanishes, replaced by smooth green scales. She now holds a great serpent in her arms, sliding out of her grip. She hugs him with her knees, pinning him to the ground. Twin fangs, slimy with venom, snap close to her face. What would happen to her if he bit her, she wonders? Would she simply die, or would she be bound to the fairies as he himself had been?

 _It does not matter_ , she thinks, _for he will not bite me_. She holds on tighter.

The serpent in her arms thrashes back and forth; whether it – he – is attempting deliberately to escape or is simply too distressed to be still, she does not know. Her arms ache. How long has it been? It seems to her that hours have passed, but there is no way to tell. Could the fairies lengthen the night by magic, outlasting Janet by virtue of their immortal fortitude? They are sorely mistaken, if they think they can best her so. She has come to claim what is hers, and she will not leave without it.

Tam Lin begins to shift under her hands again. Janet braces herself. This time, the fur is growing back, and he sprouts new legs and a long, pointed head. She now holds a wolf in her arms. The fairies are laughing again, doubtless anticipating her defeat. They will not have this satisfaction of her. She presses her cheek to the wolf’s pelt, thankful at least for the warmth. “The sun will rise soon,” she murmurs, praying that she is right. “We must only hold on awhile longer.”

The laughter has died away. Janet can feel dozens of eyes on her back, hungry for her to make a mistake. “I will not yield,” she says. Her voice is thin and cracked. She says again, louder, “I will not yield to you. He is mine, and I will have him.”

The fairy queen hisses above her. “I should have plucked his eyes out, rather than let him look upon you!”

“But you did not,” Janet whispers. If her eyes do not deceive her, she can see the faint light of dawn appearing above the trees. “And I have won.”

A great sigh rises up from the queen’s cohort, but when Janet looks up, there is no sign of them. There is only the queen, still seated astride her horse and sneering down at Janet. “So you have,” she says. “I will not own that you won fairly, but you have won.”

Janet does not care what the fairy queen thinks of her tactics. Was it fair to kidnap Tam Lin and imprison him beneath the fairy hill? “You must leave us be now,” she croaks. “I have won my love and my land. I’ll bear no further insult from you.”

“ _Your_ land –“ The fairy queen stops, peering closer at Janet. Her expression slowly shifts from anger to a frank curiosity. “I knew one like you, once,” she says. “Your features bear her stamp, and you certainly have her courage.” She tosses her head. “You have earned freedom from my interference, but I will make no such promise to your kin. Remember that.” And with that, she is gone, evaporated into the morning mist.

Tam Lin stirs beneath Janet with a faint groan. In a last moment of spite, it seems that the fairies have stolen his clothes; he is as naked as the day he was born. “Janet?”

“I’m here,” she whispers. God, how she aches; there isn’t an inch of her that doesn’t cry out for a hot bath. She climbs slowly off of him and removes her cloak, draping it over his shoulders. “It’s over. Let us go home.”

* * *

Their daughter is born at high midwinter. She is not born at Carterhaugh, as Janet wished it – the old estate is still being rebuilt, and the heavy snowfalls have slowed the workers’ progress. She is born instead in Janet’s childhood bedchamber, with Muirenn and Janet’s old nurse standing by. She bears Janet’s mouth and nose, but she has her father’s slate-grey eyes.

“We’ll name her for my grandmother,” Janet says to Tam Lin, who is standing by the bed looking at the baby with a faintly dazed expression. He has passed four months in the mortal realm now, but sometimes he still bears the haunted look of the fairy queen’s pet. But there is nothing otherworldly about his look now; just shock and pride.

“Margaret,” Janet says. The baby fusses in her arms, warm and squirming and utterly alive. Janet bounces her gently. “Lady Margaret Lin of Carterhaugh, do you like that?” Margaret makes no reply but a grunt.

“Of Carterhaugh and Roxburgh,” Tam Lin says, reaching out to brush her cheek with a finger. His brow creases. “Janet, you know that the fairy queen is vengeful, and no magic bars her from interfering with our family. She may yet take our child and leave a changeling in her place, as revenge for being bested at your hands.”

Janet smiles. It feels more like a baring of teeth. “Let her try.”


End file.
